


Nonpareil

by Sheniru



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Kiss Challenge, Drunken Kissing, M/M, Mention of Alana Bloom - Freeform, One-Sided Love, Pining, Post-episode : s01e08 Fromage, Will has encephalitis, Will is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheniru/pseuds/Sheniru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place some days after "Fromage", Hannibal decides to visit Will to sort out the mess of his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nonpareil

Hannibal dusted off the snow accumulated over his perfectly tailored coat before he knocked on the door a second time. Will Graham’s doorbell was broken, had been for a few weeks… The whole house gave out a strong sense of neglect, and seemed to be slowly falling to ruins. Hannibal licked his lips, and placed both his hands behind his back, joined together, as if to keep himself from using them. The visit was impromptu, and, although it was always good to see Will, an uncharacteristic impatience was waging war into his head. 

He heeded the sound of someone approaching, a brief scuffle with the locks, then the door cracked open, and Will peered through the outside. When he recognized his visitor, he opened wider, then toppled over, only keeping himself steady by catching onto the doorframe. “Ugh.” He mumbled, pushing his head down and away from the bright sunlight. He wasn’t wearing much, a pair of brown dockers and a tight grey shirt, and nothing in his feet. He smelled of old Whiskey, sweat and sickness, and seemed to have trouble keeping his balance. He was quite drunk, which was a welcomed addition.

While the younger man seemed shocked at the cold weather, arms quickly wrapping around his body, the doctor was washed over by a wave of blazing heat. This pulled Hannibal off-balance.

“Doctor Lecter?” Will mumbled, making efforts to pronounce each words coherently. “…wasn’t expecting you.” He scratched the back of his head, and added. “I wasn’t expecting anybody, to be honest…” .

“I had a call from Alana Bloom. She was worried about you.” 

Will winced at the words. 

“I guess she didn’t want to come around here any longer, knowing what happened the last time.” His voice was laced with dejection. He was holding a drink in his left hand, half-emptied, the edge of the glass chipped. Hannibal raised his eyebrows, and smile warmly.

“How are you feeling?” He inquired, both his hands still clutched together in his back. 

“As you can see, I cope.” Will answered with a pained smile and raised his glass to head level. “Don’t I?.” He marked a beat and took one sip, keeping his eyes to his beverage.“How are you feeling yourself?” 

Hannibal hesitated in answering back. He wasn’t sure, to be honest. Many things appeared to be affecting his thought process as of right now, like the way the light was cutting dry lines on Will’s shirt, and the glimmers of amber in his drink. Will swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing indecently. Hannibal cut his wandering thoughts short. “Will, it is cold outside. May I come in?” 

Will broke his dazed look, offered an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. You’re right. Sorry.” He made way for the man to slip past him.

“I don’t see your dogs with you?” 

Will had left his visitor behind and found himself at the far end desk where he kept most of his alcohol. “They’re upstairs. You want something to drink?” 

“No, thanks.” He paused. “I think I ought to tell you as your doctor and your friend that you should not fill your glass either.”

Will smiled genuinely, sending warmth to Hannibal’s belly, yet still poured himself more Whiskey. “I’ll keep note of that.” He turned to Hannibal standing still and silent in the middle of his living room. It was hard to hide how much disarray the whole space was in. The doctor looked alien in such a devastated scene, tucked in his elegant, expensive-looking coat and wrapped in cashmere and silk. 

Hannibal followed his hosts’s gaze, and took in the full picture of the disaster. Will had try to fill in the hole on the chimney, but it wasn’t done right, and wasn’t finished either. Rocks were still piled up along the hearth, and dust and plaster coated the carpet around it. It looked and felt _crazy_ , and they both knew it.

“So this is where you kissed Alana?” He spoke before shifting back to the curly-haired man, strangely satisfied to see patterns of grief splattered all across his face. 

Will, never quite looking someone in the eyes, pressed the edge of his glass to his lips and took a long sip. “Right where you are, yeah.” He then took a few steps towards him, wobbly on his bare feet, perhaps a lot more than he realized. “The memory is haunting.” He chuckled. “Somehow, it feels as if I’m trapped in a house of mirrors, and all distorted figures..ugh.” He seemed to struggle with his words, “….keep laughing at me.” 

He dropped the drink on the top of the mantle shelf, obviously finding it harder and harder to stand, yet still trying to make an effort to be presentable. Hannibal thought Will’s disarray looked beautiful, amidst rubbles of his own making, wet hair on his face and placing so much efforts in keeping himself into good company. Somehow, Hannibal realized, everything about Will was a wonder to witness.

“It was nice…” He said, voice slow and sloppy, rubbing the wrecked stone with two fingers, “…even if it ended predictably.”

“It was not premeditated” 

“I wasn’t acting like myself.” He seemed displeased by his words. “I wasn’t _myself_ … Ugh. Sometimes, everything just slip out through your fingers. Like sand.” 

Hannibal nodded. “Sometimes, there are matters out of our control; influences that makes us betray ourselves.” He spoke very slowly. Will raised an eyebrow at the truth of these words. His mind was struggling still, working through explaining some physical idea he couldn’t put into words. His body tensed and curved itself, frustration piling up.

“I touched her forehead.” He tapped at his own. “I just wanted her to see me, not what I had done.” He made repetitive motions with his hand and Hannibal followed, curious, shortening the distance between them. 

Soon, the last drop of alcohol wavered through his system. Will’s body slumped against the incriminating fireplace, his head hot and red and his lips dry. He frowned in exasperation, struggling with his unsound mind; he navigated between cries of animals that did not exist, and the insistent look of pity in Alana’s eyes. He turned towards Hannibal and, for the briefest of time, they looked eye to eye. “I’ll just show you.” He concluded, casually.

He dipped forward, rested against Hannibal stiffening body, both hand gripped at his side, mostly not to fall. Hannibal might have had excellent hindsights and sharp reflexes, he remained petrified, eyes wide with surprise. Thoughts were cut short, leaving a ravaging emptiness completely filled out by the other’s hot presence against him. When Will crushed their lips together in a drunken attempt at kissing him, everything in his mind exploded into fireworks.

Will’s head was off-shot, lips slipping over the other’s closed mouth in a straight line, up until he reached its corner. He had to pull back and leaned further in, adjusting the angle again and again. His eyes were closed, his motions clumsy and strangely unaware of what they were doing. It was not a nice kiss _at all_. It probably looked nothing like the original Will was trying to recreate, yet it sucked the air out of Hannibal’s lungs, if ever such a thing was possible. Will soon lost his balance and had to adjust his grip at his psychiatrist’s shoulder, pushing his other hand to hold onto his waist. Will’s body was heavy yet small, and fitted the older man’s perfectly.

Hannibal timidly responded, sloppy exchanges that made him blush. He was certainly taller than Alana, and it made most of what was intended much more difficult to coordinated. When Will finally pulled away, out of breath, he rubbed both their forehead together, and whispered barely formed words. The psychiatrist couldn’t directly see it, but he felt Will’s hard-on pressed against the folds of his pants very distinctively.

There, in the dirty, chaotic living room, Hannibal had an epiphany.

Will let go of him and tumbled out and away, dazed and a little unsettled, head bent at an odd angle and cheeks scarlet. “See?” He blurted out after a short pause, as if it made perfect sense; it did, for him. He then groaned, looking down at their shadows on the floor, intertwined and moving together. “Ok? Ok.”

Still off-balanced, he found the comfortable shape of his old leather chair, the one he kept posted besides the window. He crumbled onto it, head and body in disarray, as if he was expecting a bed instead. "I'm... I think I'm going to sit down for now.” He managed to say, softly. 

Hannibal remained muted, still looking plainly to where Will had left him, sensations still warm all over himself. “This was quite unexpected.” He managed awkwardly, after a while, his words laced with caution. “Will, this is something we should talk about.” He fret not on the words but spoke them regardless. 

Will was snoring, comfortably curled around himself on the chair, his left temple flat on the metal armrest and legs dangling on the other side. Hannibal did not notice and kept talking for a little while, right until the point where he found he remembered how to use his feet. He shifted towards the sleeping man, but was caught upon his own reflection through the front window glass. He barely recognized himself. He pulled back quickly, as though he just burned his hand on the stove.

He observed his many options, and elected for retreat. He found he could walk just fine, and decided to do exactly that. There was something new, and curious and immensely satisfying warming up inside his body, like a well cooked fare, but now was not the time to do anything about it. He diligently noted he had left no traces of his presence, and, as he was still decked in his coat and scarf, managed a few quick stride over the living room and escaped out basking in the bright sunset in the manner of an instant. 

As he quickly cross down the lane, he made a mental note to re-read the entire Proust library, because he clearly missed some very important points in his understanding of the matters of the heart. Perhaps he could break down one of his good bottle over it, tonight. Regardless, one thing was certain, he needed to go back to the basics.

**Author's Note:**

> I completely failed to keep this under 1000 words :(


End file.
